She-Wolf
by Savaria
Summary: "We live resigned to our internal contradictions, Hermione. To your social and political animal, dreams need to be dead. Our species has decisions to make, no room for fairy tales and hocus-pocus. We are not witches and we are not wizards. We are simply werewolves - losing a war that hasn't even begun."


Mr and Mrs Granger were proud to say that they were _quite_ extra-ordinary.

They were dentists, of course, and by societal standard this meant that they were rather clever. The two met at university some years ago and became enraptured by one another's work ethic; they married shortly after graduation. When plaques and oral cavities gave way to more meaningful talk at the dinner table, they decided to share a small slice of their success with the world. They named her: Hermione Jean Granger, choosing a nice, unusual first name, perhaps to establish how educated they were.

When Mr and Mrs Granger awoke on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was little to suggest that strange and mysterious things would be happening all over the country. Mr Granger rallied himself for his first day at work, paternity leave having come to a close.

Mr Granger whistled as he picked out his favourite tie, attentive while his wife chatted away and swaddled Hermione into a pram. Neither noticed the tawny owl flutter past the window.

At quarter to nine Mr Granger shrugged on his corduroy coat, pecked Mrs. Granger on the cheek and elicited a delighted gurgle from Hermione - as he blew a raspberry on her palm. Her little limbs were endlessly escaping the linen tucked around her.

"Eight o'clock," he reminded Mrs Granger, before leaving the house.

The November morning was crisp and chilly. Mrs Granger passed her day in the town, amidst the hullabaloo of shoppers. There was a Mothercare that she liked to visit, not far from the park; it allowed her to showcase Hermione and the blanket she had made for her.

Inside Mothercare, the pram wheeled through the glossy aisles, and Mrs Granger stopped to converse with Mrs Nibley and Mrs Coombs. Even on their way out of the shop the three continued to natter, and so it did not immediately register that a great many people were out in the streets, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

"I heard he was blasted right out the sky! Down like a devil!"  
"-young Harry Potter, that's right-"

Mrs Granger was emotionally unprepared for the number people out as there were; Halloween tended to leave the streets bare, parents tired from the evening's activities.

A long and lone shadow appeared over Mrs Granger; with a start she ducked, looking up to see an owl, of all things, vanish over the shop. For many people owls were not a common sight, especially in the day. Even more surprising was that no more than a minute later, another owl flew by; and then another, and another still. Suddenly understanding that something was out of the ordinary, Mrs Granger began to take notice.

There were people dressed in costume, adorned by long glamorous cloaks and the occasional pointy hat. A tremendous air of excitement suffused their gossip and Mrs Granger understood that whatever was up for discussion was of great importance. However, she couldn't see any sign in place to suggest an event today, nor any explanation as to why that would require medieval dress.

"Pardon me," she asked politely, drawing near one of the brightly-clad characters. "Do you know what's going on? Has there been a zoo breakout?" She waved a hand to the air, where owl after owl sped by.

"Breakout indeed!" The man chortled. "Only the end of an era, the start of a new dawn! It's finally _over_. Can you believe it? And all thanks to the boy. I'll not rest until I've shook his hand!"

"Neither shall I, _neither_ shall I. All shall hail the boy who lived!"

"Lived?" Mrs. Granger frowned. "As in, past tense?" She wished she'd checked the news this morning.

"Oh, muggles like yourself needn't worry - at least not now! Eh?" The man elbowed his partner and they both exploded into wheezing sounds.

Feeling absurdly like she'd just been insulted, Mrs Granger wheeled Hermione away. People pointed at the owls as they flew by in all directions. Not just one type of owl, either, but a great variety, in all shapes and sizes. Some of them, Mrs. Granger thought, following a particularly large dark outline, weren't even owls.

They hooted and cried, a cacophony of noise that had many swooping down low from the air to avoid one another. More oddly dressed individuals called out across the roads, with no tin can in sight to explain the charity sponsoring them or what theatre group they represented. One woman in bright fuschia even gave Hermione a stuffed animal from a cart, and she praised on and on the remarkable triumph of a child over darkness. She dropped a name often.

All the way home Mrs Granger mused, perplexed, on the identity of Harry Potter: the boy who Lived.


End file.
